The Diary of Forrest Wineburn
by Baird
Summary: Master Forrest Wineburn, proprietor of Wineburn Bookshop, Archivist of Vozhdya, and Editor of Fastheld news: tales of his oddly inspired life, rife with intrigue, humor, and most of all, books...
1. Common Philosophy

Sprouting Keg Tavern ---------- (Indoors) (Cover: Fair) When Gamlon Seamel established the crossroads village of Silkfield nearly six centuries ago, he entered a partnership with Lannak Lomasa to build and manage this tavern: The Sprouting Keg.  
  
With walls of polished shardwood, a riverstone floor strewn with amber rushes and silky husks, the tavern has a V-shaped biinwood serving counter and about two dozen tables beneath angled rafters. The fireplace can be found in the corner common area, where weary travelers can sit in chairs without tables and contemplate the flames while they relax and talk.  
  
"No doubt," Yanarie says politely. She nods her agreement to Ester, and then, rather than leave, she moves with swift and certain steps to the bar near Forrest. "Bring me some food," she calls to the 'tender, "the best you have. I've had a long ride."  
  
Forrest removes a single coin from his pocket, and spins it on the table, staring as the candlelight flickers across the table.  
  
Forrest stops the coin, listening as it clatters to its side.  
  
The Lady waits patiently until a platter arrives, at which point she passes money over across the bar and takes her place on a stool. She smiles at Forrest, openly, her lips a quizzical pink bow. "Good evening, Mister," she says to him. "I've a question for you, if I might?"  
  
Ester Shardwood pulls her cloak around her and follows the nobleman out.  
  
Forrest looks up at her face, and smiles strangely. "I've hardly had the pleasure of acquaintance with one like yourself, my lady. If I can help you in any way, please allow me."  
  
"Of course, goodman," Yanarie Zahir tells the man comfortably, "I would not imagine you'd the opportunity. Tell me, have you heard any rumours of danger on the roads of late?"  
  
Forrest rubs his head, and meets the lady eye to eye. "As I was passing from the Palace District, I saw a quarry. Nothing out of ordinary, save it was all red. I didn't think nothing of it, till this day. You all mentioned something to that nature."  
  
"Red? A stoneman's quarry?" Yanarie says with a puzzled lowering of her brows. Taking her dagger from her belt, she slices off a piece of meat and stabs it with the point. She nibbles, contemplatively, while awaiting her answer.  
  
Forrest frowns. "Eh, well, by the river, near the Lightholder Crossing. Under a bridge, if that helps. I don't like tidings like this. Although in my line of work, it defintely had the scent of blood. Could just be anything though. Some prank."  
  
Forrest looks up with a concerned gaze. "I hope everything is well with you though. I couldn't help overhearing the conversation, if you pardon my listening."  
  
The huntress shrugs easily and freely. "Blood is no matter to me. This," she says, gesturing with her dagger and the meat impaled thereon, "left blood in the woods somewhere when it was slain." When Forrest speaks again, she frowns. "Evesdropping?"  
  
Forrest clears his throat and looks a bit embarrassed. "In my line of work, ma'am. A thousand apologies."  
  
With little warmth, the Zahir noblewoman says, "what is your line of work, pray tell?"  
  
Forrest struggles out a smile, and then folds his hands on the table. "Well, my mother tells me to bring home the meat every night, so I got a bow and some little shafts. But moreso, I take to the pen."  
  
Forrest's voice seems to waver through the silence. "I, uhh, write stories. Fanciful things, stuff to take by the fireside and chat about, more like. My mother tells me it's a useless activity, and the barman here," he whispers, "believes it's a useless art one day." He raises his voice. "I believe I'll be rich and famous one day, Ma'am, so it seems right to me."  
  
"Perhaps," answers Yanarie somewhat neutrally. She slices off another piece of meat and lifts it on her dagger. "For you, however, it is skill that will make you or break you. For all of us that's true, in fact, but it's more evident with you. How is it you make your coin?"  
  
Forrest sighs, and then removes the coin from his pocket. "This, my lady," he says with a certain tasteless quality about his voice, "is through skins and pelts. Been a hunter most of my life. These woods around here, and around my mother's house."  
  
"I am a hunter," Yanarie comes Yanarie's reply, and her voice lifts in pride with boldness and a trace of distaste, "you do not like the art?"  
  
Forrest shakes his head. "No, lady, only wish my coin could be earned in hearts and not skins. I admire the hunt, relish in the shadows of the trees, and can't stand horses by the most of me. The run and the silent waking are a high thrill of being human." He shrugs. "Although I am no hero, and wish to be. The people in my stories are, by the Light, and they deserve to be. Hopefully, one day, I'll rise out of this meager peasanthood with a higher inclined state of affairs, if you know my meaning. Get a nice home by the river, a servant or two. And a nice title, a nice title."  
  
Both of the noblewoman's brows shoot up at once. She leans faintly away from Forrest, perhaps consciously or perhaps not, and leans her dagger against her plate. "You are a peasant?" she asks with distaste in her voice.  
  
Forrest chuckles, and then states in a calm voice, "Nay, only a metaphor, lady. Meaning that I haven't a keep, and that I still earn my coin by that which I cannot help. Name is Forrest Wineburn, lady, citizen of this fair hamlet of a city, Silkfield." Forrest slips the coin back into his pocket, and leans against his fists.  
  
Down come the fair brows of the Zahiress, and down her pink mouth remains. "Grand ambitions," she tells the man, "and it has never happened. And it never will. The Lady Aylora was an example to us all in that regard."  
  
Forrest looks up into the rafters, and then returns his gaze. "Ah, I do doubt that it shall never happen. Either way, I'll spin my stories and see what comes of it. Is that not the beauty of life, lady? That we can aspire beyond ourselves, and achieve what's written on the face of the clouds?"  
  
"That is not the beauty of life. Still, you're wordy enough to make a bad, if I don't miss my guess," the noblewoman says to Forrest in a casual voice. "You might even do well in it."  
  
Forrest smiles darkly, his eyes settling calmly over the tip of his nose. "Surely you have aspirations, lady. More than what's written on your crest."  
  
The pink smile which curls over Yanarie's face is superbly confident and completely serene. "My aspirations are fitted to my skill and station. I've no delusions as to either."  
  
The windows of the tavern shudder in a breeze of wind. Forrest looks down and sighs. "Lady, your station does not make who you are, and your skill could never represent the breadth of your being. It is only the beginning. To think otherwise, you would have sworn off life."  
  
Amusement filters into the spark of Yanarie Zahir's eyes, and she lets forth a ringing chuckle. "You, g'man, are presumptuous in the extreme. You need a bard's leeway, lest your tongue be cut from you someday," she says, and though her tone is light she seems in earnest.  
  
Forrest scratches his head mindfully. "Such distress..." He looks up for a moment, and bursts into a smile. "I have not the touch of a bard's song, but I do wonder... no... it is not in my station, as you say." He pauses. "I do hope I can come to convince you, if you happen in this tavern again. Perhaps not this day, as it is reigning late, and perhaps we are both tired.  
  
"It's wise to have an excuse." The Zahir woman stabs the last slice of roast up from its platter and rises to her feet. "I wish you light, g'man, and wisdom. I believe you will need both," she says in farewell.  
  
Forrest raises his eyes at the noblewoman's leaving. "It was the trick of the gods, that told us that men could be separated by the sand of the earth..." He raises his voice in farewell. "I do hope you have a wonderful ride home, lady! Take care to follow the path. As the Lord Seamel has said, there are dark things afoot."  
  
"Gods?" Yanarie says, echoing the word in sudden alarm. With a glance to see who else might be listening, she turns on her heel and quickly exits the tavern. 


	2. Royalty On the Rocks

Gold Coin Tavern -------(Indoors) (Cover: Fair) (Owner: Aitor) The tavern of the Gold Coin is a remarkably attractive redbrick cottage. Inside, its terracotta tile flooring is covered with thick, warm embroidered carpets. A large, circular firepit is centered in the room, capped by a rack supporting several rotating spits of meat. The walls are decorated with various images of Vozhdya's glorious past, from the Wildling Wars to the coronation of House Vozhd. Mounted highest of all, however, is a portrait depicting the Ascension of Emperor Talus Kahar XI.  
  
Overhead hangs a large, three-tiered iron-and-copper candelabrum, swaying gently. The atmosphere is one of familiarity, as various persons - mostly soldiers - play games at the large ebon tables. Perhaps a dozen of these populate the room. The second story of the cottage is dedicated to small sleeping quarters for guests. A door to the kitchen is visible, as is a large biinwood bar stocked with copious amounts of booze.  
  
Eden Kahar and Markus Kahar are here. An iron oven is here. A medium white velvet tapestry is here. -------Also here: Cook Uvan Waterstone Obvious exits: Out  
  
Forrest dusts off his boots, scans the tavern, and takes a deep breath in. "Finally..."  
  
Markus Kahar sits in the now-empty Gold Coin smoking a cigar and flipping through a number of scrolls. His kith and kin, Lord Captain Eden Vozhd- Kahar, is seated at his side doing very much what Eden Kahar enjoys doing. With so many workers in the fields and mines, the tavern is wholly the Vozhd's domain.  
  
Forrest walks up to the cook at the counter. "My good friend, I was sent here by courier from the House Kahar. Do you know?..." Uvan Waterstone gives Forrest a wary glance, and then points his head toward the two nobles in the far tables. "Oh.. my.." stutters Forrest. "Thanks man. I'll be back..."  
  
What is it that Eden enjoys doing? Drinking. Certainly, the man seems to have an admirable constitution (at least where ale is concerned), and he does such with quiet mirth, eyes occasionally drifting to his uncle.  
  
Forrest walks toward the two nobles slowly, his hands drifting inside and out of his pockets. "Good lords? Happen one of you to be the Lord Markus Kahar?"  
  
Markus Kahar glances towards Eden with a sly smile, before looking back to the man with a chuckle. "You are speaking to he. Who be ye?"  
  
The brown-eyed gaze of the young Lord Captain is slightly critical as it rests on Forrest, though Eden says nothing as the man converses with Markus.  
  
Forrest bows low, spreading his arms before Markus. "I am one Forrest Wineburn, of the Silkfield Forest, my Lord. I am very glad our correspodance connected as quickly as it did, and I am immensely happy to be in your fair city." Forrest removes a slip of paper from his pocket, and hands it to Markus. "Sorry about the quality. It was a long and hard ride from Silkfield, and Parlance, though a strong horse, is still new to me."  
  
Markus Kahar looks surprised, sitting up and setting the scrolls aside. "As am I - you arrived quickly." He nods towards the formal greeting and gestures him to sit. "Join us. This is my nephew, the Lord Captain of the East Aegis Garrison, Eden Vozhd-Kahar. Eden, Forrest is a man of letters. I invited him to Vozhdya to see if, perhaps, he can't further our literary tradition."  
  
Eden Kahar looks to the Duke as an explanation is given slightly, and then inclines his head to the newcomer, offering a simple greeting of, "Well met, Master Forrest."  
  
Forrest smiles and bows to the captain. "I am most pleased to make your acquaintance, Lord Eden." Forrest removes a coin from his pocket, and says further, "If you would allow me to do the honor, I would like to press this coin to you. It is a ceremonial tiding, from my mother, the Light bless her, and she begged me to show her appreciation to you."  
  
Forrest places the coin on the table of the two lords, and steps back, his hands clasped behind him, and a large smile on his face.  
  
Markus Kahar tilts his head in curiousity, taking the coin in his fingers and flipping it a few times; holding it upwards to the light. "Quite beautiful, but I must admit I am not a collector of such things. What is its significance - purely famlial?"  
  
Forrest grins with hearty admonition. "Aye, it is. From my father's day, when he served on the Aegis. He never spoke of his time much, but he kept many of these coins on his hand. Don't know where they came from, and he never said." Forrest pauses. "Now, I suppose you'd want me to start working straight away?"  
  
"Most impressive, young man, most indeed. That key point is a question of which I shall offer back to you: when would you like to start working, and more-so, to what? This is a secondary job, at most, not requiring many hours a week. While there will be bursts of heavy work, especially during official functions, you will have much free time. Do you pursue private enterprise as well as Ducal work?"  
  
Taking the coin by his fingers, flipping it back into his pockets, the young man sidles into a seat, his mind deep in thought. "My Lord, I have many ideas, many ideas. They come and go, but as I do not know what I must deal with yet, they do not stay. It would be best if I could stable my horse and settle down, make some notes, and give it a day's thought. If that's fine with you, of course."  
  
Markus Kahar nods, "That's excellent - fine and well. In that case, you may start immediately - we'll have a room arranged at the inn, here, for you - until you decide on more permanent quarters."room arranged at the inn, here, for you - until you decide on more permanent quarters."  
  
Forrest frowns, and then looks up with a question on his face. "Sir?"  
  
Markus Kahar nods, "Yes?"  
  
The young man turns his gaze to the table, and begins to talk. "I, err," he begins, "I am a writer myself. I have not traveled vastly, perhaps the farthest was to the southern part of the river district, to look at the imperial hunting grounds. But I believe the realm is missing a... well, bookshop. I would like to sell them. I know it's a strange idea, but, please, do you understand?"  
  
Markus Kahar tilts his head in surprise, before smiling. "Indeed... it surely does. I myself dabble in book-collecting. Does such an enterprise interest you, young man?"  
  
Forrest continues, "I myself, have written several books, and it is indeed a passion of mine. It is a large passion, yes, to eventually open a bookshop. Not only mine, but other's in Fastheld. A small enterprise, to be sure, but I believe a much-needed one."  
  
Aitor appears behind the bar to notice that the Duke has come to the Gold Coin. As usual, he goes to his table to welcome him, even when he is talking to some individual. "Ah welcome, your Grace. Do you wish something to drink or eat?"  
  
Forrest whispers under his breath, "Grace?..." Forrest shudders into a wash of crimson, but under his dusky face, it is almost unnoticable.  
  
Markus Kahar glances upwards with a smile, "Ah. Aitor. Something sweet, perhaps - a pie? And bring my man here," he nods towards Forrest, "... some lamb. We were just discussing bookshops - do you read, Aitor?" Markus inquires, to the commoner, with an unusually familiar tone. Such is the unique and compatriotic bond between the boozer, and He Who Brings Him Booze.  
  
"And another glass of ale for myself," Eden suddenly pipes up, the Bladesman having sat in silence as the Duke and Forrest conversed.  
  
Markus Kahar glances back to Forrest momentarily upon his murmer, tugging at his beard with a bemused smile. "Indeed. Grace. Your Grace. I am the Duke, Markus Vozhd-Kahar II, Lord of Vozhdya, Eastwatch and Marble Grove and 2nd Blademaster of his Majesty Talus Kahar's, Emperors Blades. Or had I failed to etch that on the letterhead?"  
  
Aitor nods. "Excellent, some pie and lamb then." Then he smiles to answer the Duke's question. "Indeed I love reading, M'lord, although in the lands I come from, not too many books were available. I'd gladly purchase some literacy if I had the chance." Then he hears Eden's order. "Of course M'lord.", he says while looking at the Lord Captain. Then he stands there for a minute, before going to tell Uvar the requested food.  
  
With a sudden start, Forrest says, "Do forgive me if I stumble, your grace, but I have rarely left Silkfield, only to see Lord Seamel a few times at the tavern. To continue, a bookshop, I believe, would be a grand thing to add to the realm. I have read the classics, much to my mother's chagrin, and feel they are most important to educate the populace with."  
  
Eden Kahar grunts slightly at the stream of titles, a slow, mirthful smile crossing his face, to which he lifts his mug (never mionding the fact that it's empty) to cover.  
  
Markus Kahar nods, "Well then, you shall start with my private collection. It is small, but your primary endeavour should be to increase it - that is - when you have nothing else to do. You'll find my volumes in the shelves, in the upper-parlor of Vozhd Keep. Inform the house seneshcal that you are the new archivist."  
  
Forrest smiles pleasantly, his eyes lighting up. I shall begin immediately, then. I have rarely had the chance to visit a private collection, outside of my schooling, so I shall take every step to ensure the safety of your books."  
  
Aitor comes with all the request food, aided by a waiter: roast lamb with plumb for Forrester, a kidney pie for the Duke, and apple ale for everyone. He stands there, with reverence and some steps away from the table, for in case he's invited into the conversation. After all, he has waiters and waitresses, and Uvar in the kitchen.  
  
Cook Uvan Waterstone accepts Markus Kahar's money in exchange for the item which is placed on the counter.  
  
Forrest begins again, first breathing in the scent of the lamb, and then speak to the Duke. "Might there be anything else you need me to do, your grace?"  
  
Eden Kahar takes his ale in silence, though not before slipping a coin to Aitor. The speech of books and stores does not seem to be of the foremost interest to the young Bladesmen, but he does bend a curious ear to it.  
  
Markus Kahar shakes his head, "Not yet, no - but soon yes. When you are ready to install your shop, contact my seneshal personally. There is nothing else, and, you may go as you wish."  
  
Aitor notices he hasn't been invited to the table, so he politely bows and goes to his place behind the counter. He gets back to writing a list of needed supplies, and planning the construction of a second floor with his living quarters. Indeed, he has great plans for the Gold Coin!  
  
Forrest nods, and replies with a steady voice, "That I shall do. Now, shall we eat? I believe the food is getting cold!" Forrest breaks into an immense grin, suddenly without his nervousness.  
  
The conversation between Markus and Forrest at an end, Eden turns to look for Aitor... but the man has already gone back to the bar. Clearing his throat slightly, the Bladesman raises a hand as if to gain the bartender's attention. 


	3. Sewer Literacy

Sewers Under Fastheld vvvvvvvvvv (Indoors) (Cover: Fair) It's too dark here. You can't see anything. ========

Forrest yells, "Anyone up there?"  
  
Forrest yells, "Hello! Hello! I'm down here!"  
  
You say, "Oh, for goodness sakes..."  
  
Forrest yells, "Can Anyone hear me?"  
  
Forrest yells, "I slipped! This muck is horrible! I'm in the sewers!"  
  
Forrest yells, "Somebody at least throw some food down here! Or something, a torch maybe?"  
  
Forrest gropes around in the dark, messing his shirt with sludge.  
  
His voice carries from one end to the other of this tiny cramped space. Forrest tries to find the stairs up, but fails.  
  
Forrest yells, "HELLO?!! ANYONE UP THERE??"  
  
Forrest yells, "HELLO!"  
  
Forrest yells, "SOMEBODY HELP!"  
  
Forrest yells, "HELLO! SOMEBODY HELP! DOWN HERE!"  
  
Forrest yells, "I know there are people up there! Wake up!"  
  
Forrest yells, "HELLO! SOME HELP DOWN HERE!"  
  
Forrest yells, "HELLO! ANYBODY OUT THERE?"  
  
Forrest yells, "I'M LOSING MY VOICE I THINK!"  
  
Forrest yells, "SOMEBODY HELP ME!"  
  
Forrest yells, "HELP!"  
  
Forrest coughs from the exertion.  
  
Forrest yells, "IT'S NOT VERY NICE DOWN HERE! Can SOMEBODY GIVE ME A HAND?"  
  
Forrest yells, "SOMEBODY PLEASE PLEASE HELP!"  
  
Forrest yells, "COME ON, THERE'S GOT TO BE SOME NICE PERSON UP THERE WITH A HEART?"  
  
Forrest yells, "PLEASE, SOMEONE HELP!"  
  
You say, "Oi, this is difficult. Can't believe I got myself into this mess."  
  
Forrest yells, "Look here, somebody up there can lower a rope? Just a citizen, fell in, IT WAS A MISTAKE!"  
  
Forrest yells, "If you can hear me, please say something!"  
  
Forrest scratches his head in bewilderment.  
  
Forrest yells, "It's bloody dark down here!"  
  
From Vozhdya Square, Lucius Nepos yells, ""Aye!"  
  
Forrest yells, "Goodness! Thank the Light!"  
  
From Vozhdya Square, Lucius Nepos yells, ""I can here ye. Hold yer horses, I'm gonna go get a torch."  
  
Forrest yells, "I won't move, I promise you!"  
  
Forrest pants, his voice nearly cracked.  
  
Forrest arranges his clothes, trying to wring down of the soak out of them.  
  
Forrest yells, "You'll prolly need a light or something! It's bloody dark down here!"  
  
From Vozhdya Square, Lucius Nepos yells, ""Aye, gotta find me some flint."  
  
Forrest yells, "Flint is good! Flint is good!"  
  
Forrest yells, "Hold on! I think I found!..."  
  
Forrest yells, "Ah, it's the stairs. Goodness me..."  
  
You head into Vozhdya Square. Vozhdya Square -------- (Outdoors) (Cover: Fair) (Owner: Markus Kahar) Vozhdya, city of industry and commerce, is the provincial capital of the Vozhd dominions. Straddling three trade routes at the Aegis' major eastern gate, rolling hillocks and loamy plains give way to dense urban quarters and a skyline populated by brick smokestacks. Hundreds of stone chalets dot the rural lowlands, centered amid the great farm-estates of the landed gentry. The Eastwatch canal, a broad, glittering waterway, feeds surrounding fields with irrigable water and descends into the very heart of the city itself. Narrow cobblestone streets coil through the cramped city districts, yet inevitably lead to the expansive central square: the living heart of Vozhdya.  
  
The sprawling marketplace is filled with carts and shanties; shops and stores; brightly coloured tarpaulins and independent merchantmen. Yet all are dwarfed under the two great industries of the region, embodied in their monolithic facades of stone and glass: the iron works and textile consortiums.  
  
Like sentinels, these twin foundries flank the square at either end. Broad cobblestone avenues expand in all directions. To the west, a chain of forested mountains mark the provincial border; to the east, the Aegis itself, gargantuan and imposing. To the north, behind high walls, the battlements of Vozhd Keep can be seen, and to the south the precipitous towers of The Warren. A large sword stands outside the Loom and Spindle, melded into the ground.  
  
Lucius Nepos and Gavin are here. Kahar's Fury stands here. A biinwood sign is here. A Guard stands watch here. An Archer stands watch here. A well is here.  
  
------- Also here: Nellom Shore (NPC Deedgiver), Vozhdya Healer, Directional Sign, Vozhdya Square News Post, Fastheld Courier Service, Merchant Marris Almond, East Aegis Stables  
  
Squeezing the water from his clothes, Forrest collapses to his knees, gasping in for some fresh air. "That is... not... a good place to be. Not a good place."  
  
Lucius Nepos stands by the entrance to the sewers, browridge quirked and a brass lantern hanging in one hand. It doesn't look like he's found any flint. "Bloody merchant doesn't have flint." He says, icily, looking in Marris' direction. Back to Forrest. "How'd you get down there, anyways?"  
  
Gavin stands back from the edge of the sewers as a guy climbs out, stinking of the damp and funk that lies underground and helps him to move away from the edge a bit so he doesn't fall back in before saying, "Nay... nay it not be a place ye be wanting to be goin if ye not be havin a torch or light o' some kind. You ok there?"  
  
The young man coughs, hacking out loudly. "Sorry about that... my voice has gone, I think, for the time being." He readjusts his gloves, and scratches his head. "You know, I've been running around this city looking for some sewing needles... Oh, by the Light..." He let's out a stream of curses.  
  
Lucius Nepos's hands fall to his side, and then clasp eachother behind his back as he continues to stare idly at Forrest. "Didn't answer the question, young man. Why were ye in the sewers?"  
  
Forrest grunts under his voice, "My parchment, my parchment... ruined." He takes out the soaking leather and parchment, his eyes being thrown to the ground as the ugly water drips to the pavement of the square. "I, uh... I slipped, sir, on the route to picking up some needles to finish my book. None of the bloody merchants around here carried any, though, but in my running, I slipped near and fell in, almost bludgeoning my head against the brickwork. Nasty fall." He pauses, and then looks at the two men. "Names Forrest Wineburn, of the newly opened Wineburn Bookshop, just opened in this fair town. Sorry our acquaintance had to be made this way, though, but I imagine it's a good enough excuse to visit sometime?"  
  
Gavin looks to the well dressed man asking the question before looking back to the young man, apparently a seller of books and listening quietly.  
  
"Fell into a covered hole? Interesting." Lucius lifts a hand up to his face and rubs at the side of his ear, his talking continuing. "Well, as long as it wasn't mischief, I s'pose. Good to meet you, master Wineburn. Warmaster Lucius Nepos." He quickly introduces himself, extending the /other/ hand.  
  
Forrest looks a bit embarrased, bundling the wraps of leather and parchment together, sticking it under his arms. "I, uhh," Forrest says, smiling quickly, "Ah yes." He takes the hand of the warmaster strongly, and shakes it firmly. "Very glad to make your acquaintance, sir. Very glad." Forrest stands at the edge of the open sewer, his clothes soaking wet, his hair hanging down limply in waves across his forehead. "I, uh, would like to cordially invite you any time, to sit or peruse my shop, Warmaster."  
  
Forrest glances over to the noblewoman on her horse, but turns back to the warmaster, his attention and smile glued to him.  
  
From Glorymaker's saddle, Jahna Nillu guides the river trotter into the square. She's followed closely by another rider, a burly bearded man dressed in armor and and wearing livery emblazoned with the symbol of a large bear. She turns her head and motions him to ride forward to her side, he complies as she speaks, "We'll stop here Curtis, I need to figure out what to do next." The man nods and speaks gruffly, "Of course M'lady, I'll see what I can find out in the tavern."  
  
Lucius Nepos smiles slightly, wiping said now wet hand on a small piece of dirty rag, which he then tosses into the open sewer to be swept away. "I think I will, and thank you for the invitation. Maybe it'll even improve my reading." Again, a smile curves his lips upwards.  
  
Forrest breaks into an even wider smile. "You are a reader, warmaster? I am impressed, for one who holds the blade seems to have hardly the time to prop a book. In my case, it's been either the blade or the book, but never the twain shall meet." His eyes glitter as he speaks, as if he was thoroughly enjoying himself.  
  
Gavin remains quiet.. standing to the side and watching the happenings... hears a pair of riders approaching and looks up to see another noble comming into the square with her escort.  
  
From Glorymaker's saddle, Jahna Nillu stops her horse near the merchant stall. Her guard hops down and raises his hand to help her off her horse. Jahna grins at him as she takes the offered hand and lowers herself to the ground. "Thank you Master Curtis."  
  
Jahna Nillu dismounts from Glorymaker.  
  
"Yes, it is difficult, and I have not read much in my life time. Books are less useful than cold, hard experience - this is not to say that they aren't useful at all, though." The Warmaster's gaze now sweeps towards the Noblewoman, but from where he is - accross the Square - he says nothing, nor gestures.  
  
Forrest leans forward, casting a glance over to the farmer for a moment, but reaffirming his gaze towards the warmaster. "Between you and me, sir, you are the second person I have had the opportunity to meet in this wonderful city, and it only goes to prove the worth of your citizenry here, that you extend such warm welcomes to newcomers. I myself just arrived from Silkfield, not a few days ago, taken residence here, and I have found the peace here most comforting." Forrest adjusts his bundle, and sweeps his gaze across the rooftops of the city.  
  
Gavin listens quietly, not wanting to interrupt the nobleman as he speaks to the bookseller however he notices that the nobleman is distracted for a moment and asks the young man, "Ye say ye got a shop o' books ere? What kind o' books they be Sir?"  
  
Jahna Nillu turns and unties the flap on one of her saddle bags speaking as she does, "Curtis I need several pieces of parchment and some wax for seals." Curtis nods, "I'll grab them." He walks over and converses with the merchant, who hands him the goods. He pays him, out a small pouch he carries tucked inside his belt.  
  
Shifting the bundle again, Forrest turns to the farmer with delight. "Dear friend, they are the books of the realm! To tell the truth, it is a small endevour now, just being opened a few days ago, but I should tell you we shall be sparkling with the energy of all of Fastheld soon." He pauses, and then asks Gavin, "What are you interested, sir? What sparks your interests?"  
  
Gavin listens to the young man as he answers and then says, "Hmmmm. Alright then." .. takes a deep breath before continuing his reply, "Oh well see I'm a farmer a bit north o' here an I'm always lookin to see 'bout new crops an such to be growing or readin on what diff'rent places like t' be eatin so's I can grow'em and sell'em what they be wantin."  
  
Jahna Nillu pulls off her gloves, finger by finger and tucks them into the saddlebag. Curtis returns with the items, she takes them, folds each piece of parchment in three and slips them into a cloth pouch. "Now lets get these guys to stable and then we can rest. She smiles brightly and starts leading her horse across the square. The bearded man follows suit, his eyes flickering over its occupants as he walks. There line of travel takes them near the entrance to the sewers.  
  
Forrest opens his eyes with astonishment. "Cookbooks! That's a brilliant idea! You have the mind of a genius! Say, who shall I dedicate it to?" His eyes sparkle like stars as he speaks to the humble farmer.  
  
Forrest stares at the noblewoman, his eyes following her form across the square. He is entranced, although it is a strange enchantment, as if he was looking beyond the bodies on horseback, into a further realm.  
  
Forrest sighs, and watches as the farmer seems to disappear among the afternoon crowds. "Aye, it will be to that unnamed farmer, for that idea.." He slings the bundle over his shoulder, casting a last glance at the noblewoman. His eyes seem to emenate some desire, some dream, but he clasps his hands together, and begins to walk off towards Broselov Circle, to where his bookshop is.  
  
Jahna Nillu glances over at the conversing men and catches Forrest staring at her, she raises and eyebrow, and glances back at her guard.  
  
As their eyes feet, Forrest stops with a jerk, as if frozen. His eyes move over the guard, over the weapons and the mighty horse, but then he relaxes as a soft wind brushes through the square. He nods curtly to the noblewoman, giving her a pleasant smile.  
  
Jahna Nillu considers Forrest for a moment and then smiles back, much to the chagrin of her guard, she greets him in a friendly manner, "Good day, fair man. Is everything alright?"  
  
The young man walks towards the noblewoman, and then stops, suddenly flushing into a bright red. "Ah, sorry for my appearance, my lady..." He smiles. "Indeed, everything is wonderful! I have escaped the dirges of this strange world once again. It is a joy. My name is Mr. Wineburn, my lady. Maybe I please to know of you?"  
  
Jahna Nillu looks him up and down, "Well yes you are a mite worse for wear." She inclines her head slightly, "Lady Jahna Nillu, pleased to make your acquaintance Master Wineburn."  
  
Forrest smiles, stepping a little closer and unslinging his bundle. "Indeed, it is a pleasure. Have you an interest in books, dear lady?"  
  
"Books?" Jahna replies curiously. Her horse snorts and steps to the side. Her guard, steps forward let me take him , "M'lady," "Oh of course," Jahna states in and offhand manner, her attention remaining fixed on Forrest. Curtis takes the reigns and leads the river trotter off to the stable. "What sort of books?," Jahna continues.  
  
"I myself, am a writer of romances, my lady," Forrest states with an air of authority, "but I intend my bookshop to include all books, history, philosophy, poetry, and tales for all ages." He shows the bundle to the lady. "This is to be my first book, once I find a sewing needle. It does not look like much now, sheaves and leather straps, but one day it will shine on the shelves of Wineburn Bookshop, and it shall be read many times over."  
  
Gavin watches the horses with an appreciative eye as the lady's escort leads it away to the stables... the looks about the square and sees that the farmers stall is not busy with customers and heads that way.  
  
Jahna Nillu smiles amusedly and nods, "That's quite interesting Master Wineburn." She gestures at the papers, "Is that a romance?" Curtis returns and stands behind her and few paces to the side. He glances briefly at the sheaves in hand, before starting a survey of the square.  
  
Forrest stares down at the empty pages, and blushes. "Well, my lady," he begins, "they are empty now, for I have not even a book yet. But if you refer to its state of being," he says, and gives a low chuckle, "It will be a history of the Imperial Bladesmen, that is, if my master the Duke will allow his works to be pressed to the public."  
  
"Oh I see, "Jahna replies, her eyes twinkling. "So you are employeed by Duke Kahar. You do custom works then?"  
  
Forrest lights up, his face suddenly bright. "Yes, I do in my time not at the Keep or governing over the bookshop here in town. Although by custom, do you mean writing or binding? Both are possible, of course, whatever you might desire."  
  
Gavin steps back out of the farmers stall and nods to himself a bit as his steps carry him back into the square. He looks up and across to the people standing close to the entrance to the sewers and notes the noblelady and her escort as well as the young book seller who seems to be drying out nicely from the look of his clothes and the diminishing moisture under his feet. Gavin turns and heads across to the iron works at an easy pace, whistling a merry tune along the way.  
  
"Both, I would assume." Jahna glances back at Curtis as speaks, "I believe I have a good yarn, that would deem well for a book. Quite historical in fact. Isn't that so Curtis?" The guard looks back at her, making no attempt to hide a scowl, "I suppose M'Lady." Jahna laughs lightly and looks back at Forrest, "I'm not sure he's convinced but I believe it would."  
  
Gavin returns to the square from the iron worker's shop and finds a place to sit on the walkway infront of it to rest for a few moments in the warmth of the afternoon.  
  
"That is very good, my lady!" Forrest exclaims. "If you have the desire, please do tell me of your wonderful adventure."  
  
Gavin looks up to the sky and /hmmm's/ quietly to himself about the weather... looks around the various stall's and mutters to himself about not having a carpenter around when he need's one..  
  
Jahna Nillu smiles and nods her head, "Well then. I have some things to settle first. I will send word to your shop and we can arrange a sitting. The yarn concerns the Keep of Moonspire which I have just recently taken ownership of. Perhaps, with the Dukes permission, you can meet with me there."  
  
Forrest widens his eyes a bit at the name of the place. "Indeed? That is a most wonderful acquisition, I have heard. I will of course, send a message to the Duke immediately. Do send word to me when you come to a decision. I will be most eager to accompany you."  
  
"Good then." Jahna says simply with small smile. "Now if you will excuse me I have some business to attend to."  
  
Forrest steps back and gives a low flourish. "My lady."  
  
"I wish you the best of days."  
  
Gathering his bundle again, Forrest waits as the noblewoman passes him, and then he turns and walks down the street toward Brosolev Circle, a very eager step in his walk. He hums a tune to himself, and fades away into the crowd.  
  
Jahna Nillu inclines her head at Forrest, "Light Keep," She turns to Curtis, "I wish to go down to the harbor. It's a nice place to write all these letters." Withe that she and the guard start strolling down the street.


	4. A Moth In Every Book

You head into Vozhdya Square. Vozhdya Square Forest District ------ (Outdoors) (Cover: Fair) (Owner: Markus Kahar)  
  
Vozhdya, city of industry and commerce, is the provincial capital of the Vozhd dominions. Straddling three trade routes at the Aegis' major eastern gate, rolling hillocks and loamy plains give way to dense urban quarters and a skyline populated by brick smokestacks. Hundreds of stone chalets dot the rural lowlands, centered amid the great farm-estates of the landed gentry. The Eastwatch canal, a broad, glittering waterway, feeds surrounding fields with irrigable water and descends into the very heart of the city itself. Narrow cobblestone streets coil through the cramped city districts, yet inevitably lead to the expansive central square: the living heart of Vozhdya.  
  
The sprawling marketplace is filled with carts and shanties; shops and stores; brightly coloured tarpaulins and independent merchantmen. Yet all are dwarfed under the two great industries of the region, embodied in their monolithic facades of stone and glass: the iron works and textile consortiums. Like sentinels, these twin foundries flank the square at either end. Broad cobblestone avenues expand in all directions. To the west, a chain of forested mountains mark the provincial mountains mark the provincial border; to the east, the Aegis itself, gargantuan and imposing. To the north, behind high walls, the battlements of Vozhd Keep can be seen, and to the south the precipitous towers of The Warren. A large sword stands outside the Loom and Spindle, melded into the ground.  
  
Moth is here. Kahar's Fury stands here. A biinwood sign is here. A Guard stands watch here. An Archer stands watch here. A well is here. ----------  
  
Also here: Nellom Shore (NPC Deedgiver), Vozhdya Healer, Directional Sign, Vozhdya Square News Post, Fastheld Courier Service, Merchant Marris Almond, East Aegis Stables Obvious exits: High Street HS, The Tannery TT, Farmers Market FM, Vozhdya Harbor VH, Broselov Circle BC, Loom and Spindle LS, Jewelry Shop J, Warehouse W, Rand Textile Mill RT, Quarried Treasures QT, Tavern TV, Kolenko Iron Works IW, Tailor T, Sewers S You can travel: West, North, South, East, Northwest, Southwest --------  
  
Merchant Marris Almond says, "I'm not interested in buying a ink stamp."  
  
Forrest mutters.  
  
"You sell me this worthless piece of..." Forrest shrugs and gives up. "Oh, forget it. Forget it. Maybe I can throw it in some dark corner, and be done with it."  
  
Forrest motions to the courier to approach him. A boy straddles over to him, and Forrest says, "Take this immediately to Master Barit Smithy. Please be fast. I don't have a lot of money, so I'll take your word, eh?"  
  
From a dark corner of the square walks a scruffy young boy, his arms clutching a loaf of bread to his chest. He walks up to Forrest and blinks. "Hey, mister."  
  
The courier speeds away. Forrest turns to go, but is stopped by a little boy. "Oh, hello." Forrest looks annoyed. He's had a long day."  
  
Moth holds the loaf of bread out to Forrest, his eyebrow raised. "Look, I'm not gonna beg or anything. I just wanna know if you have anything other than bread to give me. I'll trade you." He blue eyes glint in the dim light and he looks at the courier speeding away. "It's a bit late to be sending things off?"  
  
Forrest stares at the little boy, not saying anything. "You're not going to beg? That's a different story. I'm not really hungry though." Forrest leans back against the well. "Say, what's your name kid?"  
  
Moth scowls when he does not receive the answer he hoped for, mainly the offer of an apple pie in exchange for the loaf of bread. At any rate, he eyes Forrest, looking up at him from beneath a scruffy fringe of black hair. "I'm Moth." After a moment he adds, "Call me Flutter and regret it."  
  
"I wouldn't dare, Master Moth." Forrest smiles. "I work late. Writer, you know. Say, you are an intelligent kid. Why are you out this late? Shouldn't you be in bed, or finishing up your studies?"  
  
Another scowl contorts Moth's mouth at being referred to with such an honorary title, but he brightens at being called intelligent. "I'm tryin' to get something for this bread. Do you know how many people have just given me bread today? I didn't even have to beg." At Forrest's other question, Moth blinks. "Studies? What are ya talking about, Mister?"  
  
"School, Master Moth. Learning. Exploring this wide, vast realm of beauty, you know. Getting knowledge, so you can get money. That's study."  
  
"Oh." Moth furrows his brow, staring at the ground for a moment, before flicking his gaze back up to Forrest. "Only rich people can learn," he says firmly, squinting at Forrest. "Do you learn? Are you rich?"   
  
Forrest chuckles. "Rich? Hardly... but I taught myself how to read, and went to a proper school for people like me. Nothing expensive mind you, just a normal place. But I reckon you'd do good in school. Where are your parents?"  
  
"My parent," Moth corrects, frowning. "She's at home. She has to stay at home. I have to get the food." He kicks his foot in the dirt, his frown deepening. "Learn... that sounds sorta boring, mister."  
  
Forrest scowls darkly. "Learning sounds boring, Master Moth? It is the one thing in this damned universe you have as a right. Even if you don't have a scrap of food or a pinprick of blood, you've still got that!"  
  
Forrest's eyes are heavy, as if his day suddenly came thundering into one moment. "You have a lot to learn. I'm surprised they've gotten to you. This world has binding that none have ever known." He is frowning now, looking off into the night.  
  
"Well, hey... mister," Moth stammers, confused by the man's passionate response. "I guess... I think... I can learn." Moth shifts his arms around the loaf of bread, tilting his head at Forrest. "How?"  
  
Frustrated and angry, Forrest responds in a red heat. "Follow me, Master Moth. Stay close. The shadows hold many secrets, and narry you should listen to them. Stay close and follow me and discover your fate."  
  
Forrest begins to walk toward Broselov Circle, his feet stamping against the pavement, his arms gathered behind his back.his arms gathered behind his back.  
  
Moth has little time to respond, and he dashes after Forrest, curious to know more of what this man is talking about.  
  
You head into Broselov Circle.  
  
Broselov Circle Vozhdya ----------- (Outdoors) (Cover: Fair) (Owner: Markus Kahar)  
  
The loud bustle of the central square gives way to the fashionable neighborhood of Broselov Circle. Famous for its wine gardens and high-end entertainment, the 'circle' is composed of a yawning stretch of cobblestone parkway bordered by bushy pink cherry trees. The streets are immaculate - horse carts are forbidden to travel upon them - and well lit, as wrought-iron lampposts illuminate the sidewalks after sundown. Well-dressed couples may be seen parading together at all hours.  
  
The circle centre is host to Vozhdya's great war memorial. An intersection crossed by patches of grass and trees, the great statue of Viscount Broselov stands high in the center of the park, forever mounted on his warhorse, Arbat.   
  
Positioned on a marble dais more then six-feet-high, the Viscount's stone visage commands all the grounds below him.  
  
You appear to be alone here. ----------- Also here: NPC Retainer Marker 32 Obvious exits: Wineburn Bookshop WB, Incarnadine Palette IP, Obvious exits: Wineburn Bookshop WB, Incarnadine Palette IP, Smithy's Townhouse ST, High Temple HT, Isabella's Townhouse IT, Driftwood's Townhouse DT, Vozhd-Imperial Downs VID, Vozhdya Square VS --------  
  
Moth arrives from Vozhdya Square.  
  
Moth has arrived.  
  
"Remember, Master Moth, that this pale facade of buildings mean nothing. The people around you are only faces. They are like everyone else. The moonlight shines over them, and the sun turns their skin red. Remember that. Now follow me."  
  
"Turns their skin red. Okay, I'll remember that." Moth trails along after Forrest, his eyes wide and his arms clutching the loaf of bread tightly.  
  
Forrest opens the door to the bookshop, taking the key from his pocket. Turning the lock, he returns the key, and disappears into the shadows of the building.  
  
You head into Wineburn Bookshop.  
  
Wineburn Bookshop Vozhdya ------ (Indoors) (Cover: Fair) (Owner: Forrest)  
  
A wistful silence floats throughout the bookshop. Patrons of the establishment sit at one of the three wooden tables, shuffling chairs and the rustle of parchment, while the clatter of carriages and the bootsteps outside the colored windows is but a whisper.   
  
Ancient, unnamed winebottles line the windowsills, reflecting the lantern light from the rafters above. On the wall are paintings of a pastoral Silkfield, fields of golden wheat swaying in a country wind, the quiet lurking forest, and farmers resting on their porches as the sun sinks below the horizon.  
  
A high bookshelf lines the entire right-hand wall, filled with volumes of text: mapbooks, classical prose, theology, philosophy, novels, and books of poems, ranging from the grotesque and baroque, to the studious and light-hearted. Scattered on different bookshelves are tiny glass figurines, some frozen while in dance, some crouched in humble thought, and others embracing in love.  
  
At the far end of the bookshop stretches a long polished counter. Behind the counter on a raised shelf is a glass case featuring rare books, a stone statue of an Imperial Bladesman and a showcase of old and strange coins. Above the counter, pinned to the wall, is an old hunting bow, the stuffed head of a tusked boar, and an Imperial sword.  
  
You appear to be alone here. Some red wine is here. A biinwood sign is here. A pine sign is here. A letter is here. A shardwood trunk is here. Obvious exits: Out O -------  
  
Moth arrives from Broselov Circle.  
  
Forrest Wineburn is sitting on a table, staring at the giant bookshelf. He holds a piece of parchment in his hand.  
  
"Mister? What is this place?" Moth says in awe, looking around at all the literature. He glances at the table Forrest sits on, scurrying up and sitting next to him. "What ya got there?" he asks, setting his bread behind him.  
  
Taking in a deep breath, Forrest begins, his voice calmer now. "Look at that, Master Moth... no, no, over there, the bookshelf. Yes. That is the glory of this world, the passion of being. What makes us human, the records of our history, our love. Those are books, Master Moth. Do not treat them as a light subject, for they will create you or destroy you if you mistreat them. They have the power of speech, of speech that attacks the mind." Forrest leaps down and takes a volume from the shelf. "Tell me, Master Moth, what do you make of this?" He opens to a page filled with text.  
  
Moth absorbs everything Forrest says with wide eyes, but by his furrowed brow it is obvious that he understands little of it. He glances to the bookshelf, then at the page of words Forrest shows him. "Well... mister, that's... I dunno."  
  
In a hushed voice, beneath even the sound of the fire crackle of the lanterns, Forrest speaks, his eyes piercing, staring straight at the young boy. "Do you want to learn, Master Moth?"  
  
"I do, mister, really. But I can't read that." Moth glances out the window, then at the ceiling, then at his hands, to avoid the man's gaze. "Are you gonna teach me?"  
  
"If you truly have a desire, then perhaps you can learn, Master Moth. I shall teach you, but I shall require your help in return. With payment, of course." Forrest takes from his pocket a single Kahar. "Ten of these a week, if you stick around. I'll even throw in a couple clothes for you. But you'll have to work hard, and study harder."  
  
Moth immediately perks at the sight of money, and he stares hungrily at the coin in Forrest's hand. Tearing his eyes away from the coin, he looks at Forrest. "Wow, mister. That's great. I can learn, I promise! I'll do my best." A moment passes, and Moth adds, "I truly want to learn, mister. It's not just for coin."  
  
Wineburn's face brightens. "That is even better, my boy, even better. I'll tell you what," he says, putting the single kahar in the child's hand. You take that to your mother and you ask her if she will allow it. Tell her you'll be begging no more, but working with a proper job. Can you do that, Master Moth?"  
  
It seems that for the first time since he arrived in Forrest's bookshop, Moth thinks of his mother at home. His eyes darken for a moment and he looks up at Forrest with a nod. "I'll tell her. She'll like that." With another glance at the window, Moth asks, "Hey, what's your name? And stop calling me master."  
  
"I am very happy," Forrest says, smiling. "And I shall call you by whatever name I deem proper, and you shall address me as Master Wineburn. You are to go straight to your mother and tell her of this, and when you return replace your ragged clothes with the clothes you will find on the floor of this shop. Is that understood?"  
  
The boy notes the seriousness of Forrest's words and nods. "Okay, mister-- Master Wineburn." He runs his fingers through his greasy hair and smiles, jumping off the table. "Thanks, Master Wineburn! I'll be back!" After a moment of just standing there, Moth leaps toward Forrest and gives him a hug, assuming the man permits such actions. Afterward, Moth exits the shop with a smile on his face.  
  
The proprietor smiles, as if the tiredness of the night suddenly washed away. As the boy walks away, out of the shop, Forrest re-arranges the tables, and shuffles some books. Tomorrow will be a grand day. 


	5. Strange Coins On A Nickel Afternoon

Wineburn Bookshop Vozhdya ----(Indoors) (Cover: Fair) (Owner: Forrest)  
  
A wistful silence floats throughout the bookshop. Patrons of the establishment sit at one of the three wooden tables, shuffling chairs and the rustle of parchment, while the clatter of carriages and the bootsteps outside the colored windows is but a whisper. Ancient, unnamed winebottles line the windowsills, reflecting the lantern light from the rafters above. On the wall are paintings of a pastoral Silkfield, fields of golden wheat swaying in a country wind, the quiet lurking forest, and farmers resting on their porches as the sun sinks below the horizon.  
  
A high bookshelf lines the entire right-hand wall, filled with volumes of text: mapbooks, classical prose, theology, philosophy, novels, and books of poems, ranging from the grotesque and baroque, to the studious and light-hearted. Scattered on different bookshelves are tiny glass figurines, some frozen while in dance, some crouched in humble thought, and others embracing in love.  
  
At the far end of the bookshop stretches a long polished counter. Behind the counter on a raised shelf is a glass case featuring rare books, a stone statue of an Imperial Bladesman and a showcase of old and strange coins. Above the counter, pinned to the wall, is an old hunting bow, the stuffed head of a tusked boar, and an Imperial sword.  
  
You appear to be alone here. Some red wine is here. A pair of gray cotton trousers are here. A black cotton tunic is here. A biinwood sign is here. A pine sign is here. A leatherbound tome is here. A shardwood trunk is here. A black cotton vest is here.  
  
Obvious exits: Out  
  
Elymara Threadgoode arrives from Broselov Circle  
  
Elymara Threadgoode has arrived.  
  
Forrest is sitting at a table, with a large group of items on the table. He is rubbing his head as if it hurt.  
  
Elymara Threadgoode ambles into the bookstore, her distracted gaze settling first on one thing, then on another. She accidently bumps into a shelf, jostling it. With an alarmed shriek, her arms desperately flail about as she attempts to rescue the little glass figurines, which have been somewhat shaken by the jolt.  
  
Forrest looks up with a start, staring at the woman who just entered his shop. "What the..." He blinks absently, and then smiles. "Oh, hello. How can I help you?"  
  
Elymara Threadgoode rescues the last of the figurines, and then exclaims breathlessly, "Hello!" She sets the figure upright with a plunk, "I was wondering, you know, if you had some sort of book, but you know, a fun one, the kind that is enjoyable to read, not the kind that is dull and boring, not the kind that aunts make you read, the kind that you would want to read, you know, on a day off, when you're feeling very lazy, maybe with someone getting kidnapped in it, or pirates, or even wolves, you know, that sort of thing. The fun kind. Not the boring kind." she says this with a toss of her messy blond curls.  
  
Forrest blinks. He turns to look out the window, and then frowns. "Oh!" he exclaims, but as he gets out ofthe chair, a flinging of paper floats across the air, scattered everywhere. "Oh dear, I'm sorry... so clumsy..." Forrest leans down to the floor, and begins to puzzle together the estranged pieces of parchment.  
  
Elymara Threadgoode reaches out a scrawny arm to snatch up a piece of paper, plopping it on his desk. She smoothes it out with her fingertips, slightly smudging a few of the letters.  
  
Forrest laughs out loud, suddenly unable to control himself. "I'm sorry, dear lady. I should have met you at the door. My mind has been so absent today... there, take a look at that book on the table there. It's a botched job, to be sure, but when I finally get the mind to do this sort of thing right, you might be interested." Forrest gives her a /very/ pleasant smile, standing up and replacing the rest ofthe papers onto the table.  
  
Elymara Threadgoode wanders over to the table, and picks up the book, turning it over in her hands. She examines the cover and chirps, "So, what's it about? Does anyone die horribly in it? I like it when people die horribly."  
  
Forrest squirms out a grin. Well, sort of a grin. More like a grimace, with a bit of happiness tossed in on the side. "Do I know you? I swear, I'd seen you before..."  
  
Elymara Threadgoode looks up from the book and says, "Well, its possible, I mean, I work here. And live here. Well not HERE, I mean... YOu live and work HERE... but I mean here in Vozhdya. But in the square, not here in the Circle. But the Circles' nice. I mean, I like the Square, too. They're all nice... I like Vozhdya, don't you? It's much better than other places."  
  
"I do so love this city," Forrest says. He extends an hand, and says, "My name is Forrest Wineburn. I'm pleased to make your acquaintance, miss?.."  
  
Elymara Threadgoode seizes his hand with her skinny one and shakes it vigorously, "Threadgoode," she says, "Elymara Threadgoode. I work at the Loom and Spindle. And across the way from it. I work a lot. I'm very busy."  
  
The bookseller returns the shake, although with a wiggle manages to dislodge the girl's hand. "It's a pleasure, Elymara. You seem to be a very spirited lady, and that's a wonderful thing." Forrest saunters over to the bookshelf, and pulls out a thick volume entitled, "Behind the Rose Window." "Perhaps you might be interested in this, Elymara? Take a look."  
  
Elymara Threadgoode tilts her head to the side and says, "Well, the cover looks nice, and the title sounds good... sort of mysterious, like, you know, what exactly is HIDING behind the rose window? Something exciting, I imagine. Sounds good to me. Does it end tragically? Stories that end tragically are much more fun, especially if they make me cry. Do you think I'll cry?"  
  
Forrest smiles. "I wept like a baby, and I wrote it!" He gives a heart-filled laugh.  
  
Elymara Threadgoode says, "You wrote it?"  
  
The proprietor blushes slightly pink, and then turns away. "Yes," he replies, while moving over the bookshelf with his finger. "All of these," he says, and then turns back to look at Elymara, "I wrote while I lived in Silkfield. The venerable Duke had the wonderful idea of hiring me to this city, so I moved here."  
  
Elymara Threadgoode tucks the book under her arm, and strolls along the shop. "You wrote all of them?" she asks, "Every single one? Do they have a lot of silk in silkfield?"  
  
Laughing quietly, Forrest shakes his head. His eyes follow Elymara as she strolls along, and he turns his head. "No, in fact we do not! That is something that should be amended. Plenty of cows though, but cow-hide doesn't make the best of dreses, now does it?"  
  
Elymara Threadgoode puts her hands on her hips and says, "Well, they shouldn't call it Silkfield then, should they?" She looks down at the book, "How much for the book?"  
  
The bookseller walks behind the counter, taking a slip of paper and putting it in a drawer behind. "Tell you what, Elymara," he begins, "You take it for now, and come back to the shop after you've finished it. Just borrow it for now, and tell me what you think."  
  
Elymara Threadgoode looks at the book and exclaims, "But then you won't be able to sell it full price!"  
  
"Oh, dear lady," he says, "I'm positive you will take very good care of it. Otherwise, if you'd like, you can put it straight on that table there, and come in any time you'd like to read it. I'm afraid I still must consult with the Duke on the pricing of my books, before I start naming prices. I'm very new to this city." Forrest walks to Elymara, his hands clasped together.  
  
Elymara Threadgoode sets it down on the table and says, "Well, alright, I can come in here and read it... I like to munch on apples when I read, though... you don't mind if I bring apples in here? There's nothing quite like a book and an apple."  
  
"That is a wonderful idea, Elymara. I think I shall serve apples here." Forrest opens his hands, palms up. "You are brilliant."  
  
Elymara Threadgoode grins sheepishly, bashfully blushing and looking at the floor, as she blurts out, "Well, I like to think so, but not everyone does!"  
  
"Don't worry about those nay-sayers!" Forrest exclaims. "Always remember who you are, and in the end, no one will forget."  
  
Elymara Threadgoode purses her lips and nods in agreement, "Well, that's true, I suppose. Apples and books, though. You really can;t go wrong."  
  
"You wouldn't mind if I came to your shop, would you, Elymara?" Forrest asks, quieting down again. "Perhaps, another time?"  
  
Elymara Threadgoode shakes her head and says, "Not a bit! What sort of thing are you looking for? A shirt? I hem shirts beautifully."  
  
"Oh, you mistake me!" Forrest smiles, and continues, scratching his ear with an idle hand. "I don't need anything, just to visit you."  
  
Elymara Threadgoode grins a toothy smile and exclaims, "Oh, of course! Stop by any time. It is sort of messy, though, but if you tell me ahead of time I will try to clean up."  
  
Forrest raises an eyebrow, and then laughs. "Mess does not bother me, Elymara. There is a certain comfort in it, don't you think so?"  
  
Elymara Threadgoode nods, "Yes, that is true, because then you don't need to worry about messing anything up, because you know, it is already messed up, so it can't become messy, because it already is, so then you don't need to worry about anything because there it is, mess and all."  
  
"Indeed." The bookseller looks outside the window, a wash of worry across his face. "Do me a little favor, Elymara... if you see a little, bedraggled boy out in the street, looking awfully horrible and messy, do tell him to get back to the shop." Forrest sighs. "He's been away for a couple hours now, and he forgot to change his clothes."  
  
Forrest chuckles, a little nervously. "Well, he first has to learn how to read. No, just a young little sprite, last night found him wandering on the street without a hope. He's the new hand around here! You might see him around! Quite a smart little boy, he is."  
  
Elymara Threadgoode tilts her head to the side, "Whats his name, and how old is he?"  
  
Forrest sighs, bedraggled eyes and a slacken face suddenly apparent. "Well, he told me his name was... "  
  
And with a start, "Moth."  
  
Elymara Threadgoode laughs, "Moth! Who names their child Moth?!"  
  
"Exactly! That's what I thought! But the little critter goes by the name alright, so it stays. He seems to be a nice boy. Apparently, his mother is in a bit of trouble, so he's got to earn the bread."  
  
Elymara Threadgoode 's ears perk up, and her eyes are alight with the anticipation of juicy gossip, as she asks, "Why, what'd she do?"  
  
"The Light help her, I have no idea," Forrest replies. "Just another one on the wrong side of the coin, I suppose. We've all been there, now haven't we?"  
  
Elymara Threadgoode says, "I always call heads whenever I toss a coin."  
  
"I prefer not to toss at all. Life is too wonderful to count on the ringing of fate, is it not?" Forrest sighs, and takes a coin from his pocket. He holds it up to the light. "The harm these little things do, Elymara, you'd wonder why we as human beings would even allow such a thing, being creatures of reason..."  
  
Elymara Threadgoode lifts her shoulders and drops them and says with a laugh, "But if we didn't have any we would all starve, and that would be no good. Also, you can go to the tavern with them, and they have really good venison there."  
  
Forrest Wineburn turns his head and gives Elymara a wide stare. He breaks into a smile, and drops his hand to his side. "You've got the most wonderful sense I've come across yet, Elymara Threadgoode." Forrest flips the coin into the air, watching as it scatters light across the room, and then clatters on the floor. But right as it lands, he stamps his boot onto the coin. "What'll it be, Elymara?"  
  
Elymara Threadgoode says decidedly, "Heads."  
  
"Well, I believe you are correct. We won't even find out, because I am /that/ sure." Forrest quickly bows down and snatches the coin, and the hurtles it outside the window with a hard throw. He steps back, panting. "My goodness, that did feel good!"  
  
Elymara Threadgoode blinks in surprise and says, "Careful! You might hit someone!"  
  
Putting a ghostly, amused look on his face, Forrest bows his head in a sulken despair. "Of course, my lady. I shall not do it again."  
  
Elymara Threadgoode exclaims, "Can you imagine if you were walking along, and suddely got bonked in the head by a coin? Of course," she muses philosophically, "You might be happy to see that you got a new coin... but you don't seem to like them much, anyhow."  
  
He shrugs, and replies curtly, "They serve their purpose. But we ought to do more of what we don't, and we do more of what we ought not to do. Part of that concerns the coin, for it seems to be a wall standing between Being, as if... we constructed it out of our own amusement, and then punished ourselves for believing in such a thing. What do you think, Elymara?" Forrest walks to the window, just to make sure he hasn't hit anyone, and notices the coin already trampled under horse tracks, lost in the earth. He smiles to himself.  
  
Elymara Threadgoode says, "What do we ought to do?"  
  
Forrest moans, and then gives a little lilt of a grin. "I don't know. I think I lost myself."  
  
Elymara Threadgoode says, "We ought to have more parties, I think."  
  
Forrest brightens up, his mood becoming more cheerful. "Indeed!" he exclaims. "How about one tomorrow! We can bring apples and books!"  
  
Elymara Threadgoode chews her lower lip and says, "I don't know... I think I have to work tomorrow. We could have one now."  
  
Forrest rubs his head, running his hand through his hair. "Well, we don't have any apples..." He begins to pace, and then stops. "Tell you what! If you're in tomorrow, I'll bring apples and some books to your shop. Yes, I know you'll be busy, but if you have a spare moment, we can chomp merrily among your pile of velvet and string, and it'll be a good day. I promise."  
  
Elymara Threadgoode nods and says, "Alright... but I'll be busy until late in the evening..."  
  
"I'll just pop by, Elymara. Surprise you with a plate of apples." Forrest smiles. "Or something."  
  
Elymara Threadgoode says, "That sounds good. I like apples. I wish I knew how to make pie, but I don't."  
  
"I think I'm going to take a little hike and search for that child. You're free to tag along, if you'd like Elymara, or stay here and read. I'll be back in a few minutes, if I can find that rascal." Forrest walks to the counter and grabs a little bag, which he slings around his wrist.  
  
Elymara Threadgoode says, "Do you think he's around? Maybe I'll come!"  
  
Elymara Threadgoode sets the book down on the table top and hops from one foot to the other.  
  
Forrest heads to the door, and slips out the door, his shadow waiting in the noon sun outside the shop for Elymara to follow. 


	6. Definitions: Chiaroscuro

It is a warm morning. The air is stagnant, not stirring with the slightest breeze. Puffy white clouds fill most of the sky.  
  
Vozhdya Square Forest District ----- (Outdoors) (Cover: Fair) (Owner: Markus Kahar)  
  
Vozhdya, city of industry and commerce, is the provincial capital of the Vozhd dominions. Straddling three trade routes at the Aegis' major eastern gate, rolling hillocks and loamy plains give way to dense urban quarters and a skyline populated by brick smokestacks. Hundreds of stone chalets dot the rural lowlands, centered amid the great farm-estates of the landed gentry. The Eastwatch canal, a broad, glittering waterway, feeds surrounding fields with irrigable water and descends into the very heart of the city itself. Narrow cobblestone streets coil through the cramped city districts, yet inevitably lead to the expansive central square: the living heart of Vozhdya.  
  
The sprawling marketplace is filled with carts and shanties; shops and stores; brightly coloured tarpaulins and independent merchantmen. Yet all are dwarfed under the two great industries of the region, embodied in their monolithic facades of stone and glass: the iron works and textile consortiums. Like sentinels, these twin foundries flank the square at either end. Broad cobblestone avenues expand in all directions. To the west, a chain of forested mountains mark the provincial border; to the east, the Aegis itself, gargantuan and imposing. To the north, behind high walls, the battlements of Vozhd Keep can be seen, and to the south the precipitous towers of The Warren. A large sword stands outside the Loom and Spindle, melded into the ground.  
  
You appear to be alone here. Kahar's Fury stands here. A biinwood sign is here. A Guard stands watch here. An Archer stands watch here. A well is here.  
  
Carriage - 840 arrives and comes to a halt near the roadside.  
  
Eden Kahar has arrived.  
  
Orandi has arrived.  
  
People rush by in droves through the square. Wagons clatter, and in the distance, a horn sounds. Far, far to the north of the square, a lone figure it seen running, panting, groveling with sweat. But nothing is stopping him, as he swerves past wagons, carts, and old ladies, nearly tripping over a little child.  
  
One of those near the running man is a mounted Bladesman, whose horse rears in surprise as Forrest dashes past. Mounted upon the steed, fighting for control, Eden's eyes follows Forrest and he calls out, "For the love of the light, good man! Stop!"  
  
The running man nearly trips over the Bladesman, and calls back "Sorry! In a rush! You know how it is!" He is running backwards at this point, a very dangerous game, as the crowd seems to be increasing as he nears it. Although he turns back, huffing and puffing, pulling his loose pants up as they threaten to slip off.  
  
Eden Kahar grunts at the the words, but shifts his horse to move after Forrest, jumping down with the practiced grace of a horseman to try and catch the man by the arm, and bring him to a halt. "If you're in a rush for such an emergency," Eden says, "Perhaps I could lend you my steed, Master Forrest?" His voice also betrays a hint of annoyance, however.  
  
And in a rush, as if the wind suddenly stopped blowing and the balance of things came into place, Forrest halted, turned around in a red face, and said flatly, "Got a horse! Darn thing won't move, cause I've got nothing to feed it. Just sits there ninnying the whole time. Can you believe it?"  
  
Brow lowering in confusion, Eden's expression grows a little more annoyed... it is well known that the men of House Kahar have a strong affinity for horses. "Perhaps you should buy something to feed the creature, rather than let it starve?" he responds sternly. "Or at least try and get to where you're going with a little more grace. You nearly knocked over a child... He could have been hurt badly."  
  
He collapses on a nearby bench. "You are right, of course, Lord Kahar. My money is running low, and unless I find a way to make some coin, I'll be whinnying too. Books is a tough business."  
  
"Have you sought out the Duke Vozdh-Kahar to that end?" Eden asks, moving to stand near to where Forrest sits. "He will not let a vassal of his -- or their steed -- starve. Even if it involves doing work that is not of particular delight to you."  
  
From the bench, Forrest stands up, dusting off his shirt and adjusting his boots. A wagon rattles by, and a little child screams out of the back while being held by his father, who apparently, is trying the best he can. Forrest winces, but replies politely to the Lord, "I've sent him a few notes, already, detailing the archives, but I haven't heard from him. I assume he's busy, at least, in his proper respects."  
  
"Aye. He is often busy..." Eden pauses, scratching at his chin with one hand. "How much money do you currently have to your name?"  
  
"Uh," Forrest says, checking his pockets. "Give me a second..."  
  
"Exactly 283 Imperial wonders."  
  
"Not much..." Eden responds. Lips slightly twisted into a frown, the Bladesman thinks for a moment, and then casually turns around, fiddling with Orandi's saddlebag. A moment later, his hand emerges with a pouch, which he tosses to Forrest. "This ought to get you by in the meantime. And for the Light's sake, feed your horse."  
  
The young writer slowly opens the pouch, and has to turn away for a moment in surprise. "Lord Kahar? Are you sure?"  
  
Eden Kahar nods his head once. "I am sure. I would rather not have you or the horse keel over from hunger in the next few days... And as I understand it, there is also a boy now in you service who'll need food as well."  
  
Forrest takes the pouch and ties it upon his belt. He looks up with a wistful smile at the mention of Moth, and nods as if he was a happy father. "Indeed, so you have met Moth? I hope he was cordial to you."  
  
For some reason, Forrest's reaction and question cause Eden to all of a sudden burst into laughter. The young Lord Captain stifles it quickly with one hand, but the mirth does not fade from his eyes. "Our first meeting was most... interesting."  
  
The bookkeeper frowns, suddenly. A hawker in the distance calls out for a customer, an old lady with a red scarf, who promptly ignores him. Forrest glances at her, but turns back. "He did not misbehave himself?"  
  
Eden Kahar's lips form a thin, tight line, and he slowly folds his arms across his armoured chest. "He did... Nearly got himself into an enormous amount of trouble, in fact, but I managed to drag him away from it. Literally. And I think he's learnt his lesson." Exactly what that 'lesson' was is not said, and the enigmatic tone in the Bladesman's voice gives little hint.  
  
Forrest Wineburn sighs. "I am sorry, Lord Kahar. He is new, and I have yet to begin and teach him the art of ettiquete. He is a poor child, and I believe his mother is in poor condition." Forrest looks off into the distance. "But generosity is worth a thousand coins, and love is uncountable. I know he will learn."  
  
"Yes, I am sure he will. The story has a happy ending, fortunately. After I... enlightened him on the seriousness of his situation, I brought him back to Vozdhya, as he had said he was in your employ. The story is his tell to tell, if you wish to hear it," Eden responds, one hand rising to absently stroke the long mane of his horse. "He was obviously in need of food and rest, though, so I saw him well fed at the Gold Coin, and then left him with a room for the night... And he apologised to me for his behaviour. I have some questions I wanted to ask you about him, though..."  
  
"Ah, you are most kind Lord Kahar. Thank you for helping him." Forrest turns back to face Lord Kahar, a smile coming to the edges of his face. "Yes, I will try to answer what I can."  
  
"How did he come into your employ? How did you meet him?" Eden asks, giving little preamble to his questions.  
  
Forrest frowns, scratching his head. "Let me see..." He mumbles a few words, talking to himself in a low, absent tone, and then raises his eyes again and speaks. "It was a late night. I can't recall if there was a cloudless moon or not, but I was in the midst of trying to find a merchant house in the city that could provide my needs. I believe his mother, that is, Moth's mother, sent him to beg for a coin, for he looked like he had been on the road for awhile. He had a piece of bread with him, and was in a sour mood. I was very tired, but something struck me as he spoke to me. Perhaps it was an inherent intelligence I saw in him, perhaps something else, but I told him to come to my bookshop. I found he had not gone to school, and decided then to school him myself."  
  
Eden Kahar listens to the story with evident curiosity, brows arching at the preciseness with which Forrest relates it, and he even smiles at the mention of the bread. "He still had the Shadow-damned loaf with him when I first saw him," the Bladesmen interjects quickly, before gesturing for Forrest to go on.  
  
"Ah, as I was saying," Forrest continues, "I took him as a student, and told him I'd pay him a small fee to operate my bookshop while I was gone, and in return I'd give him clothes and food and a place to sleep. I have been busy, as of late, but as I only took him into my employ but two days ago, I already see I have my work cut out for me."  
  
Eden Kahar nods his head slightly. He seems about to say something, then reconsiders, and instead asks, "Do you know where he is from?"  
  
Forrest is silent for a moment. He traces an idle finger along the stubble of his chin, and crosses his eyes in vexation. "I believe, now Lord Kahar, for I have not asked him squarely yet, that he is from the countryside. He had that look about him. He's a trifle troublesome, this is true, but I can't admit that this is duly because of his homeland. Just improper training in formality, perhaps."  
  
"That's an optimistic guess," Eden responds with a hint of rue, continuing to stroke his steed along its neck. "I suspect that he is no vassal's son... But rather a peasant, from the Shadow District."  
  
"You suspect?" Forrest paces, dropping out of the street to the sidewalk, beneath a shade from a local shop. He leans against the wall, and turns up to face the Lord Kahar. "Do you know for sure?" He is talking in a whisper, his eyes wide and huge.  
  
Eden Kahar does not follow Forrest immediately, instead turning till he finds a familiar passerby -- in this case, a young man -- to whom he hands the reigns of his horse and a few coins, so that they might take Orandi away to be stabled. Turning back, he marks Forrest's location in the shade of the shop, and follows him, joining the archivist in the shadows. "I am not sure; I have no evidence. He would not tell me where he was from, but after I put him to bed, I went to the Keep and examined the records of my uncle's vassals... And there is no mention of a boy by his name among them. True, 'Moth' is a strange name he may have given himself..." The Bladesman pauses to take a breath and survey the streets beyond.  
  
The young man nods, staring at the ground as if his eyes had been nailed to the boards. "I understand, Lord Kahar. I will practice discresion with this." Forrest looks at the Lord Kahar, and smiles. "I thank you for telling me this. Although it is strange, how he would have left that awful place, it is even more a wonder how he made it here. Perhaps there is nothing to worry about, but discresion is wise." "Wise," he repeats to himself, taking a deep breath in.  
  
"Coming here is no wonder... And he does it to support his mother and younger siblings. This much he told me," Eden responds, looking back to Forrest. "The fact that he chooses an honest trade rather than thievery shines in his favour, though. But he is not of Vozdhya, I know that much... He spoke no Vozhd himself, and acted in a way that made it clear he was brought up in a hard, unkind place. He was afraid to enter the Gold Coin Tavern, thinking it to be a hellhole like the dens of the Shadow District, and later told me that his father had been killed in a tavern brawl. Clearly, he is from no civilised place. But," the Bladesman add, voice dropping to a mere whisper, "You must not tell anyone this. His kind have no rights -- perhaps I would not have even paid him heed if I had know."  
  
Wineburn bows his head in silence, and says quietly, "I understand, Lord Kahar. I, of course, will endevour to make his stay in Vozhd as pleasant as possible for the people of this wonderful city." Forrest looks into the afternoon sky, and speaks idly, "Sometimes, this world does bring such interesting conundrums, does it not, Lord Kahar?"  
  
"It certainly does... Looking out for a peasant boy was never something I would think to do," Eden responds, wryness in his voice. "But I thank you for giving him a chance... And if you need my aid, you need only let me know. I will keep my own eye on him, and perhaps some time in the company of the good and honest folk of Vozdhya will help to set him straight."  
  
"Your offer is most kind, Lord," Forrest says. The street has quieted, the wagons less now, only a few people marching down the street with unknowable consequences in their heads. The hard sun shines down on the dusty road, and a passing cloud shadows a hole in the road. Forrest begins to walk slowly back to the square, quite aware now of the faces around him. His sweat has dried off, and he breath stable. He turns to the Lord. "I must ask your pardon, Lord Kahar. It seems I have a boy to check on." He grins from the edge of his mouth.  
  
"And a horse," Eden adds with a hint of a smile, following Forrest out from the shadows.  
  
"Oh, my! Of course!" Forrest turns to run, flourishes a very quick bow, and apologizes with a turn of his head. "I almost forgot! Thank you!"  
  
"Farewell, Master Forest," the Lord Captain responds, raising a hand to wave to him, before turning to head his own way.  
  
Forrest Wineburn dashes off, the tails of his shirt flinging behind him. He burns a path through the dust, and disappears into the shadows of the Broselov Circle. 


	7. Mothcycle: Lessons

The tavern of the Gold Coin is a remarkably attractive redbrick cottage. Inside, its terracotta tile flooring is covered with thick, warm embroidered carpets. A large, circular firepit is centered in the room, capped by a rack supporting several rotating spits of meat. The walls are decorated with various images of Vozhdya's glorious past, from the Wildling Wars to the coronation of House Vozhd. Mounted highest of all, however, is a portrait depicting the Ascension of Emperor Talus Kahar XI.

Overhead hangs a large, three-tiered iron-and-copper candelabrum, swaying gently. The atmosphere is one of familiarity, as various persons - mostly soldiers - play games at the large ebon tables. Perhaps a dozen of these populate the room. The second story of the cottage is dedicated to small sleeping quarters for guests. A door to the kitchen is visible, as is a large biinwood bar stocked with copious amounts of booze.

"They don't sound much like friends," Eden responds, then, though not questioning further, "But you will find people here quite different, I am sure. Master Forrest is a friend, no?" The Bladesman finishes off the last of his chicken, and then eyes the remnants of his potatoes. "Do you know how to ride?"

Blinking in the hard night, Forrest Wineburn ambles into the tavern, rubbing his eyes and collapsing at a nearby table to the door of the Gold Coin. He is weary - his face shows it, and he has trouble keeping his eyes open. He scans the tavern, obviously looking for something, his eyes heavy with a barrage of thought.

Moth shifts his eyes to the table, then smiles winningly at Eden. "Um... of course I know how to ride!" After a moment, he says, "No, not really, I don't." The boy hears the door to the tavern open and spots Forrest, jumping out of his seat and scurrying over to the man. "Hey! Master Wineburn, hi! You don't look so good..."

"Master Moth," Wineburn blurts out. "Why in the name of the Light are you out so late? I've been looking all over town for you."

"Well, I can always teach you..." Eden's words drift off as the boy is already scurrying away, but he follows Moth's path of departure, catching sight of Master Forrest. Rising to his feet, he follows after him -- leaving the dregs of their meal unattended -- brows arching as he hears the archivist's words. But he says nothing for the moment.

"I... I've been with Lord Captain Eden!" Moth bubbles, gesturing to the man. "You've been looking for me? But... but I was in the shop all day... then I just came here when it got dark, and..." he trails off, fidgeting with his sleeves and look at Forrest apologetically.

Sighing, Forrest nods and thumbs the table. Seeing Lord Kahar approach, he smiles. "Ah,

my Lord, I see you have been chosen by whatever fate guides us to watch over this boy during my

absence. I do thank you."

Coming to halt behind Moth, Eden places his hands upon the boy's shoulders lightly -- perhaps a gesture of support. "There is nothing to thank me for, Master Wineburn. Except, perhaps, a few much-needed lessons in courtesy," he looks down to the boy.

"But of course. I believe tomorrow we have a lesson in speaking to your elders, do we not Moth?" Forrest looks at the boy, who seems to be distracted at the moment. "I hope by next week, I can begin to teach him the rudiments of the language. Of course," Forrest continues, holding his shirt collar with two fingers, "I'm sure he would benefit highly from training on a horse. That seems to be a wonderful idea, Lord Kahar."

"Pfft..." Moth says to the mention of courtesy, looking up at Eden. "Maybe she shoulda been polite to me, first," he mutters before shifting his gaze back to Forrest. "Yeah! I wanna ride a horse... I want my -own- horse," he says, his eyes wide with excitement. "And I want a cat! Oh, I know, Master Wineburn! You can get a cat for your shop!"

"A horse?" Forrest snorts, shaking his head dismally. "In time, Master Moth, once you have grown

a few feet and can address a lady properly."

The hands on Moth's shoulders squeeze them slightly in mild reproach. "I think he will definitely need the lesson in speaking to his elders, and to his betters," Eden says to the archivist, though clearly the words are also intended for Moth, "And to know what expectations he should have of noble-born lords and ladies. I'm afraid I'm more used to effectively disciplining Bladesmen than children..." the young Lord Captain adds, before once more directly addressing the boy, "And among learning to ride a horse, perhaps some other things would be of interest and use to you, Moth."

The demands for a cat and a horse are left untouched by Eden for the moment.

As Eden talks, Moth rolls his eyes, feigning a gesture of disgust that, hopefully, Eden doesn't see. He doesn't try to squirm out of the grip on his bony shoulders, and instead stands peacefully, glancing up at Eden every now and then. "What other things, then? I want a cat."

He eyes the boy, Forrest does, scratching the back of his neck and shaking his head ruefully. "A cat?" He asks, bewildered. "Whatever for?"

The gesture of disgust goes unnoticed, the height difference between the two making it hard for Eden to catch Moth's expressions when he's not looking up at him. "Well, a cat I'm not sure about..." he looks to Forrest. "Are you the kind who keeps pets, Master Wineburn? And remembers to feed them?" he adds with a hint of rue.

"I really want a cat. A fat one. I'd feed it, and it would lay in the sun and when I pick it up, it would be warm and it would purr." Moth says all this in the space of one breath, a smile on his face. "And if I had a horse, I would feed it and ride it around and it would be spotted, and I would name it... I would name it... um... Apple Pie!"

Hanging back in his chair, as if he were deep in thought, Forrest lets out a content chuckle, shrugging his sleepy shoulders and rolling his eyes. "If you keep the shop up good, and you are polite," Forrest says with some accentuation, "to both customers and the people in this city, then perhaps you might have a gift coming, to ease those long hours. A cat I can't say, but you might receive something. That is, if I receive a good report from Lord Kahar on your behavior." The writer looks at Eden, a question on his face.

Eden Kahar can't help but grin broadly at the enthusiasm, but he echoes Forrest's sentiment aloud. "Aye, behave yourself enough, Moth, and I'll see to it that your master is able to bequeath you with a nice gift."

"Like... a cat?" Moth asks, tilting his head up to look at Eden, a grin quirking his face. His blue eyes twinkle as he turns his attention to Forrest. "The cat would help me learn. It would be warm. And... warmth helps learning," he says, glancing sideways at Forrest.

Wineburn frowns at Moth, a low shade of skin bunching up near his forehead. "Master Moth, may I speak with you for a moment? Excuse us, Lord Kahar."

"Certainly," Eden says, removing his hands from Moth's shoulders and patting the boy on the back, before turning to head to the bar to fetch a drink. His gaze betrays a hint of curiosity when he glances back in their direction, however.

"Eh? Why-- er... okay, Master Wineburn." Moth looks over his shoulder, giving Eden a slight wave before turning back to his teacher. His links his arms in front of him, tilting his head at Forrest.

"Do you know who that man is, child?" Forrest asks, motioning to the Lord Kahar beside the bar.

"He's the Lord Captain," Moth says affirmatively, giving the archivist a nod.

Eden Kahar drinks, oblivious to the conversation.

A low gutteral grunt from Forrest recognizes Moth's response, although it does not affirm it. "Indeed, Master Moth, that is the Lord Captain. But what else is he?"

"Um... he's got a strong grip?" Moth offers, starting to furrow his brow in confusion.

He shakes his head, and takes the boy's shoulders in his long fingers. "He is a Kahar, Master Moth. What does that name mean to you?"

"Kahar..." Moth says, testing the name on his tongue. "Um... that means... dunno." The boy shrugs helplessly under Forrest's hands.

Wineburn stares hard at the boy, increasing the strength of his grip, although only enough for emphasis to the importance of this matter. "He is one of the most powerful men in Fastheld, Master Moth. He can send men to their death, and he has the power of saving their lives. He can sense the slightest doubt, and controls a realm of respect, from people our betters a hundred times over. He is also a Kahar, which means he is steadfast, and honorable. He will give you what he has said, you need not worry. You should properly address him as Lord Captain, or Lord Kahar, and understand that one promises to you that he gives is worth a thousand promises of a common man." Forrest releases his grip, and sighs.

Moth cocks his head at Forrest, silently taking in his words until the man releases him, at which point Moth blinks as though being released from a trance. "Um... but... he wouldn't send me to my death, would he?"

"He could, Master Moth. He could." Forrest smiles and winks at Eden from across the pub. "All the better reason to act with a degree of politeness, when in his company. Although the Lord Captain is a merciful man, he is a ruler, and as such, he must maintain respect. If that respect is tarnished, and others see it, they will not only see you as a threat, but as a traitor. For not all men are merciful, if only a few."

"But... but..." Moth squints, looking back at Eden. He frowns slightly, nods to Forrest, and trudges back to his chair, slumping into the seat and drawing his legs up under him, staring at the table.

With no clue of what they speak of, Eden continues drinking at the bar, striking up a conversation with a local man he recognises nearby. He catches Forrest's wink, and smiles slightly, but does not seem to understand it at all... Not even Moth's mopey reaction.

"Now I want you to be a strong boy, Moth, and go visit the Lord Captain, and apologize to him for pressing a needless matter. The Light shall protect us, even when we are in pain. You need not worry about things that are outside your control, only that which is in your control." Forrest nudges him out of his seat. "Now, go, go."

Moth eyes Forrest, slowly rises, and walks over to Eden. He leans his chin on the counter and looks up at the man, a slight frown twisting his face. "Sorry for pressing a needless matter," he mumbles, then decides to assume a more comfortable position and takes a seat next to Eden at the bar, his bony shoulders slumped and his black hair falling in his face.

Letting his conversation with the other man drift into silence, Eden turns, surprised at the change in Moth's mood. His lips twist into a slight frown, and he glances over at Forrest, before putting his free hand on Moth's back, patting it briefly. "That's alright, young master. You'll find I don't easily change my mind when pressed, regardless." He then looks back up, arching a brow at the archivist.

Forrest Wineburn is busily making notes on a piece of parchment on the table. It appears to be a list, a numbered list, and he is busily scrawling words and sentences beside the list, although his handwriting looks like such a disaster, it is difficult to read.

Moth looks deep in thought, as if trying to formulate his thoughts into words that could form a coherent sentence. He looks up at Eden, sure he has the man's attention before beginning, "I'm sorry if I'm not being 'polite' enough. It's just..." but he trails off, losing his train of thought, or perhaps simply not wanting to share his feelings at this moment.

"You can be honest, boy," Eden says, before shooting the man he had spoken to a glance that sends the fellow off to leave them undisturbed. "I can't afford to get you drunk every time I need to hear the truth from you, after all," he adds with a grin, attempting to lighten the mood a little.

The writer has almost filled half the parchment with nearly illegible writing. He is writing very quickly, and every now and then looks up, over at the two by the bar, and then turns back to his work. The quill in his hand looks like it is being worn down, and dabs of ink spot the table. One of the serving girls comes idly over and wipes the table with mutter on her face.

Moth manages a small smile, and sits up straighter in his seat. He looks around, glancing at Forrest and the list before returning his gaze to Eden. "Nyeh... I forgot what I was gonna say," he says, his mouth stretching into a yawn.

Eden Kahar gives a small grunt, and shifts to hold his glass with both hands. "Very well," he says, regarding the yawn, "Though it looks like you're too tired to ride this night."

As he finishes the last letter, Forrest grins widely, standing up from his seat and exclaiming, "It is finished!" He nearly knocks the chair over, but manages to catch it on it's descent.

"Tired? No I'm just--" but his words are cut off by another large yawn, and he smiles sheepishly. With a start, Moth looks wide-eyed at Forrest and ambles over to him. "What's finished?"

Eden Kahar also looks back at Forrest, but does not echo the question, instead remaining at the bar and quirking an ear to hear Forrest's response.

Proudly placing the parchment on the palm of his hand, Forrest Wineburn proclaims, "This will be the first book of poetry published in Fastheld, under a professional writer and bookseller." He looks at Moth, and whispers to him with a smile, "I'm very proud of you. That was very brave." Raising his voice again, he says, "It is the Maiden Monologues, and will be a glorious thing when put into final form."

Moth furrowsh his brow at the word 'poetry,' but doesn't query as to what Forrest means, instead letting the man speak. As he is praised he nods, one side of his mouth turned up in a grin. "Maiden Monologues..." he says to himself, scratching his head. Yet another yawn escapes his lips, and he stretches his arms briefly.

Finishing off his drink, Eden slips the bartender a coin, and then slowly wanders after the pair, throwing himself down in a seat opposite them, lazy slouch suggesting the soldier has taken over the noble for a moment. "It sounds curious, Master Forrest. An quite a historic undertaking."

"I hope it shall be," Forrest says idly, lost in the moment. He recollects himself a moment later, and staring at the form of Lord Kahar, he says, "You look quite tired, Lord Kahar. If you'd like, I can join you on the way back to the keep. I have some records to check on inside." To Moth, he says nothing, but waits for the Lord's reply.

Moth seats himself in the chair next to Eden and eyes Forrest as he offers to go back to the keep. Tucking his legs up under him, he listens to the conversation, not speaking as another yawn stretches across his face.

"Not tired... At least, not so much as your young attendant," Eden responds as he glances to the still yawning Moth. "I'll be sleeping at the barracks this night, anyway. And if he is still up for it, I will reward the young master's efforts with his first riding lesson... Though I have a feeling the hour is such that he might fall asleep before it can come to that."

Forrest motions to Moth, nudging him. "What do you say, Master Moth? I'll give you the day off tomorrow, and you can get a riding lesson with the Lord Captain, if you're up to it."

Moth looks at Forrest, a grin breaking across his rather drowsy face. "Okay!" he says happily, glad to be exempt from a day's work, but even moreso at the fact that he gets to ride a horse. He runs his grubby fingers through his hair and looks to Eden for approval.

"That sounds like a fair deal," Eden responds, looking between the pair contentedly. "Of course, it'll have to be at the East Aegis Garrison... In case I am needed. But the lands there are open and untamed... Likely better for a first ride than the streets of Vozdhya.

"Excellent!" Forrest clasps his hands. He turns to Moth, and says directly, "Now you need to get some sleep. I'll wake you in the morning and take you to the barracks, where you can join the Lord Captain." He turns to the Lord Kahar. "I hope that is satisfactory, Lord Kahar?"

"Sleep, yeah..." Moth murmurs, his eyes half-lidded with drowsiness. He leans back against the chair, scratching his lean stomach absently

"That is satisfactory," Eden responds, glancing to the increasingly drowsy lad.

"Ok, Master Moth. Let's be off then. Lord Kahar still has some business to attend to, I believe." Forrest stands from his chair, taking the parchment and folding it into a neat square, and then walks to the door of the tavern. He turns back and smiles at Lord Kahar. "Thank you, my Lord. I'm sure Moth will be a most happy boy tomorrow."

Moth rises slowly, turning to Eden before following Forrest. He stretches his arms out and waits-- apparently the boy wants a hug.

It takes a few moments of staring for Eden to work out what it is Moth is requesting, and then a genuine smile slips onto his face... perhaps even slightly embarassed. Though he lets out a few disgruntled noises as he is forced to rise from his slouched position, the Lord Captain is eventually at his full height, and moves so that Moth can throw his arms around his waist in the hug, while he ruffles the lad's hair with a hint of fondness.

"Moth?" Forrest calls out, motioning to the door. "Let's go child. Let go of the nice Captain." He says this with some amusement, and then if in reaction to everything, opens his mouth wide and yawns, stealing a glance outside the open tavern door into the dark square. "Say, it sure is a beautiful night."

And throw his arms Moth does, hugging the man with boyish admiration before scurrying after Forrest, quite ready to go to sleep. "See you tomorrow!" he calls, running a hand through his ruffled hair before exiting the tavern with the archivist.

Eden Kahar watches the pair go in silence, offering a parting wave and a grin, before turning... To fetch himself another drink.

Taking the boy's hand in his own, Forrest leads out of the tavern, speaking in a low voice.. the words, "Congratulations, Master Moth" are heard, but the voices fade as the tavern becomes empty of their presence.


	8. Gratitude

Forrest Wineburn, proprietor of the bookshop, is standing behind the counter, cleaning the dust off the wood with a wet rag. He looks a bit dishelved now, and he has trouble keeping his eyes open.

From the clear, humid night air steps the tall figure of Trevain Zahir, closing the door of the bookshop firmly behind him and looking about, flexing his red-gloved fingers testily. The Zahir swishes up to the counter, his midnight black cloak loosely about his shoulders, and places a gloved palm on the countertop. "Master... Wineburn, is it?" he begins, a smooth grin spreading over his face.

"Ah..." The bookseller blinks his eyes absently, setting down the rag and rubbing his face with his hands. "What time is it..." He focuses on the man standing at the door, at the swirling cloak and the shutting of the door, and instinctively asks, "How can I help you? Aye, this, err," he stutters, "I am Wineburn."

The noble straightens, raising an eyebrow at the man's dazed response and says clearly and sharply, "I would like to buy a book, Master Wineburn." He tightens his red-gloved hand around the edge of the counter. "But perhaps I should return at another time."

"Oh!" Master Wineburn, aware that he has a customer now, shakes himself out of his reverie, and throws up door to the counter, then shutting it behind him. "I'm afraid I do not get many buyers, Lord?... Well, there are four volumes here, and I'm afraid my prices are quite high, but these are books, good sir, and you don't see many libraries do you! Hah!" Forrest smiles, and pulls out a chair. "Would you like to sit, sir?"

The man grins rather thinly, nodding to the man but politely refusing a seat with a wave of his hand. "I would much prefer to stand, Master Wineburn, thank you." He glances around at the shop with a raised eyebrow, leaning on the table before sliding his intense green gaze back to Forrest. "Ah... and what would these four volumes be about? I would like one that portrays great suffering, and it must delve deeply into human nature," he remarks with a glint to his eyes.

"Suffering?" Forrest asks, a confused look on his face spreading across the layers of his skin. "Perhaps, if you take a look at this volume," he says, fingering a tome. "This is about a love that could never be, and there is suffering. Perhaps you might be interested in The Tailor of Seamel?"

"Ah, yes, yes... love," the Zahir remarks with a dismissive wave of his hand, yet glances at the tome. "I'll take it." With this decisive statement, the Zahir nods sharply and places his hands behind his back, tilting his head at Forrest. "Now, ah, exactly how much will this volume cost?"

"Well, my lord," Forrest begins, holding the letter in his hand, "if you can read this letter, it should explain most of the price to you. I do not sell the originals, but I do sell a copy I will make especially for you. You will need to choose which volume," he says, interrupting himself, by pointing to volume one, and then volume two, "that you wish. Each book is priced at 1000 Imperial kahars, while I will need some time to properly craft the book.

The noble takes the letter, glancing up at Forrest as he peruses it, then sets the parchment back on the table, smothering it with his palm. With a slow smile, he looks back up at Forrest. "I understand it must be very taxing to copy each volume. However, I must request of you both volumes. I am a very avid reader, you see, and I hope to write my own novel one day," he reveals with a sly grin. "Now... that would be 2000 Imperials, am I correct?" He hefts a coinpurse from somewhere on his person and offers it to Forrest. "This should be more than enough, Master Wineburn." He makes sure, in a rather creepy way, that his fingers brush Forrest's as the coins change hands.

"I believe, Lord, that you have paid me too much," Forrest says, fingering the pouch with a curiousity. "I am not one to disrespect a customer, so I must ask you if you know how much is inside this pouch?"

The Zahir's lips crease thinly and he eyes Forrest, drumming his red fingers on the letter. "Master Wineburn, please. In that pouch is exactly as much as I intended to pay you."

The bookseller nods, as if understanding something beyond his bookshop. He places the pouch on his counter, and then looks up to the young nobleman and smiles. "If you come back in two days time, my lord, everything shall be prepared for you. The boy here who I leave in charge of the shop while I am busy with the Duke's business will help you." He goes up to the nobleman, and holds out his hand to conclude the deal, a bright smile on his face.

The noble's eyes glint as a smooth grins spreads across his face like honey, and as he releases the pricing letter from its prison and accepts Forrest's hand, giving it a firm shake. When he speaks again, his voice is a low rumble, almost, one might say, seductive. "I will return, Master Wineburn, in two days time." With a swish of his dizzyingly black cloak, he moves to the door and places his red hand upon it. "I look forward to reading your stories, Master Wineburn." Almost as a snide afterthought, he adds, "Light keep."

"Aye, indeed. Now, who shall I leave these books to? I have yet to know your name, Lord?..."

"Oh, of course." Trevain turns abruptly, approaching Forrest. "My name is Trevain Zahir," he rumbles, leaning slightly toward the bookseller. Straightening, he smiles. "Two days, Master Wineburn," he says, swishing out the door.

"Then farewell, Lord... Zahir." He bows to the noble as he leaves the bookshop, and turns to his work, removing a paper parchment from his trunk.


End file.
